The Bucket List
by Zilver A. Hawk
Summary: Even after the war, Rhys continues on with life as usual, though he feels that it's lacking something... Sometimes it takes an accident to find meaning in life. (Rhys x Mia)
1. Chapter 1

_This story was written as a Secret Santa for an exchange on deviantART. I decided to divide it into two parts because of its length. Depending on whether or not people actually want to find out what happens, I may post the second part. I did my best to mention as many of the recipient's favorite couples as possible, though I will admit that Rhys x Mia is one of my favorite as well. Please enjoy!_  
_  
_

_~Zilver A. Hawk_

* * *

**THE BUCKET LIST**

**PART ONE**

Always a bridesmaid and never a bride. At least that was how the saying was supposed to go. Rhys had never been a bridesmaid or even a groomsman. He was always asked to officiate a wedding. Over the years, he had watched so many young ladies walk down an aisle of sorts, a man of importance at their arm. The union of King Naesala and Princess Leanne had probably been the most grand, and then there was Mist and Boyd in their very own mercenary keep. He had even watched two men share vows. It had been incredibly uncomfortable for him. A relationship of that caliber was bound to end badly, but it had been a secret ceremony. He supposed Prince Reyson and King Tibarn were entitled to love each other just like any mortal being.

Whatever the case, he had been to many weddings. He enjoyed the atmosphere. Two people sharing their love was the most powerful feeling in the world. No matter what race they were, he could feel the intensity of that power radiating the entire night. It felt like a shield to any negative emotion. No harm could come when two lovers were together.

At least, that's what he thought. He had never felt the feeling himself. Perhaps when he was a bit younger, but it had been years since the war. With each passing day, he was beginning to feel older and older. Perhaps he had been in love once, but he wasn't sure now. He loved his work at least. He woke up every morning to beautiful bright faces that called him Father. The little ones at his school would cling to his legs and his hands. They would kiss his cheek and cry into his shoulder when they scraped their knees. He loved all of his children, and he wouldn't change a thing about it, but sometimes he wished there was more to his life, someone to share it with.

With a sigh, the young saint arose and began the short trek from the old mercenary keep to his school built nearby. He hadn't meant to think about such dreary things, but recently, his heart had started to grow heavier and heavier. He was getting older, and he still didn't have a family of his own. He wanted to give his parents grandchildren, even though they had already told him how proud they were of him. They had been so good to him. They deserved that happiness that all parents deserved from their children.

"No…not again, Rhys," he told himself. He managed a smile and pushed himself along to his school house. It was a modest little one room building. Some people called it a glorified shack, but it was his pride and joy. A little garden the children had planted as a project grew in the front, full of vegetables and flowers. They tended to it themselves, and he let them vote on what to do with the produce. Most of the time, they donated it to the shelter which couldn't have made him any prouder. The inside was always tidy with his desk at the front and places for the children to sit all lined up parallel to it. There were places to leave their cloaks when it was cold and places for their bags usually full of books he had gotten donated and their lunches. Crudely drawn pictures hung all across the walls, all handmade by his loving pupils' tiny hands. It made getting up at the crack of dawn every morning worth it.

On his way into the building, he knelt down to pluck a weed out of the garden that one of the children had missed. It was their project, but he was more than glad to help. When he rose, the silver blade of a sword was pressed against his forehead. Someone was inside the school. "I wouldn't say a word if I were you, _Father_…" a young man spat.

Rhys froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He had been at the end of a blade many times, but the direct danger to his pupils scared him more. The oldest was only twelve. He prayed none of them had arrived yet. If someone had to get hurt, he wanted it to be him. He kept his mouth shut like he had been ordered, and when the man urged him to rise, he did. He wasn't too old, perhaps a bit younger than himself. He had cold black eyes, but that was all he could see from underneath the man's cloak. It was enough.

"I'm lookin' for someone," he said. Without waiting for a response, he shoved a hand drawn picture into the saint's face. It was just a doodle of a flower, a pink one with yellow spots. In the corner however, a barely legible name caught his eye. Gillian. The face of a little girl of eight with beautiful long red hair, giant green eyes, and soft freckles filled his mind. He had to be kidding… "Can't find her anywhere in town. I guess her family's slippery. Thought you might be able to point her out to me. I know she comes here."

For a moment, Rhys was dumbstruck. The man had a blade to his chest and was asking him to find a little girl. "…what would you plan to do with her?" he managed to ask.

The young man's scowl twisted into the slightest smirk. He lifted his blade from the saint's chest to his neck and watched him squirm for a bit. "Daddy owes a debt, and it's about time he paid up one way or another. Consider me a tax collector."

It took a lot to make Rhys's blood boil. He could tolerate being bullied because of his health because he knew it was all in good fun. He could even laugh at the cruel antics of some of his friends, but the thought that someone would hurt a little girl just for money made him turn red in the face. "I'm afraid you'll have to kill me to get to any of my students," he stated firmly.

"Fair enough. I'll just wait for her to come wandering to school."

What happened next became a bit of a blur for the saint. Instinctively, he raised a hand and called out a spell, not in defense, but in warning. A ball of light shot into the sky and exploded in the sky. It had become a symbol of distress. There was no doubt in his mind that everyone had seen it. That would keep the children away. He felt the cold steel of the man's sword slice into his chest as soon as the light left his hand though. As his vision started to grow blurry, he fired off one more blast into the sky. Just for good measure…


	2. Chapter 2

_I felt like I would be kind and upload the second half of this story for the few people that are reading it. My classes begin soon, so you probably won't hear from this Hawk too often, but I did enjoy being active while it lasted. Please do enjoy, and review even if you don't enjoy it. I like to hear from you to see what I can improve on, and what I'm doing right. _

_~Zilver A. Hawk_

* * *

**THE BUCKET LIST **

**PART TWO**

"Stop touching him!"

"I'm not touching him!"

"Yes you are! You're hurting him!"

"No I'm not! You're bein' loud, and I bet that hurts him worse!"

"You're louder than I am!"

Rhys had been woken up by the sound of bickering more than once in his life, but this was certainly new. He had always imagined heaven to be a quiet place full of the distant sound of harp music. Somehow, he knew in his heart that this wasn't heaven. Maybe it was the tight pain in his chest or the loud familiar voices that were filling his head. But he wasn't dead.

"He's awake!" the first of the two voices cried. They were both female, but this one was much younger, childish even. After she spoke, a chorus of a few more voices gasped or whispered to themselves, he couldn't quite make it out what they were saying though.

"I told you I wasn't hurting him," the second voice said. She was much older he could tell, and her voice was smooth and somewhat rough. He felt a small calloused hand grab his, finally pulling him out of the shadow that clouded his mind. "Someone's been takin' a good long nap. You gave everyone quite the scare!"

He knew his chest hurt, and his vision was somewhat blurry, but he could make out two fierce green eyes hidden behind violet bangs. The young woman wore a goofy grin and a sword at her side. It was a face he had not seen in quite some time, so familiar. It made his heart pound wildly. "Mia…" he rasped.

"I told her to stop touching you, Father," the first voice said. A little girl with long red hair sat at the edge of his bed, glaring daggers at the trueblade. "But she kept playing with your hair and stuff."

"Is she your girlfriend?" another female voice asked.

Rhys finally managed to look around his room. Yes, it was his, and it was filled to maximum capacity. Children and their parents were lined around his bed and into the hallway. A few of them had brought flowers and drawings that covered every imaginable surface of his modest room. He spied a few of his guild mates checking on him as well.

"Is she your girlfriend?" the girl repeated, her face twisting into an explosive grin. She could hardly keep from giggling, but the girl's mother scolded her and quickly apologized.

"Well, I'm a girl, and I'm a friend," the trueblade replied with a grin of her own. "Still searching for my rival. I've been traveling all over. My search brought me back here. I thought I might spend the night and catch up, but it turns out someone's become a local hero in my absence."

Rhys's face flushed red in embarrassment. Just about everyone in his room agreed. "That...man…"

"Apparently Titania gutted him before any of the kids got there. Good thing too… Mist's been patching you up ever since. I think it's been a few hours by now. You're looking better at least. You were whiter than usual when I finally got a look at you."

Rhys merely fell silent again. At least that man was gone. He let his free hand trace the fresh scar that left a thin groove in his chest. It matched a few other close calls he had had, but this one was certainly the worst. "I'm just glad…everyone is alright."

"So am I!" Gillian piped in. "You're really brave, Father!"

He flushed again with the praise. He didn't mind the attention, but this was almost overwhelming. He felt like half of his village was here. He had only been thinking about the children.

"Yeah, Father," Mia added with a wink that sent his heart into a flutter again. "Really brave…"

"Alright, everyone," Mist's voice called out as she pushed her way into the room. "He just woke up. Let's give him some room. You can come bother him later. Right now, I need to do a checkup."

It took a while to get everyone out, but she was insistent. The young valkyrie wasn't about to let her mentor get ill from attention now. She even managed to get Mia to leave, but the trueblade promised she would be back later. Mist merely asked him some questions about how he was feeling, and used her heal staff once more to try to relieve some of the pain in his chest. It was enough, but once again, he was tired. He couldn't imagine how much blood he had lost. The thought horrified him, dying on the front steps of his school. But it hadn't happened. The goddess was merciful to him yet again.

"So you're still not seeing anyone, eh Rhys?" Mia asked as she helped the saint out of his room for the first time in a week. She was pretty sure Mist was going to bash her head in later for doing it, but he was starting to look like a ghost from the lack of sun. He needed to get out if he was going to get any better.

Rhys was still sore, possibly from lying in bed so long. The pain wasn't as bad as it could have been, but he still wasn't comfortable. Mia had to let one of his arms rest over her shoulder to give him support and urge him along every few minutes to keep him moving. Yep. He was out of shape. He managed a smile at the young woman at least. "No… I'm afraid not. I've been keeping busy with my work," he replied.

"I can see that," the trueblade said. "Teaching and priesting has gotten more dangerous. Last I remember, the scariest thing in the occupation was runny noses and sticky fingers." The thought made her shudder. "But I guess you're not ordinary Father."

Rhys managed a chuckle. He remembered how he had always loved her sense of humor. It made him comfortable, and reminded him of when he was younger. She had always urged him to push himself harder, to get stronger. She hadn't changed much since the last time he had seen her. She was still tall and strong. She probably wore a few more scars that would make him cringe if he heard the story behind it, but even with the wearing of battle on her body, she was beautiful.

"There's more to children than runny noses and sticky fingers," he objected. "You have to worry about playground fights and who's kissing behind the schoolhouse after school and that frog that Billy likes to leave in my desk. It can get rather dangerous."

"I see…" the trueblade replied with a chuckle. "I guess you need a bodyguard then. Someone to keep an eye on you."

"I'm certain that isn't necessary." Though, he had thought about asking Titania or another knight to keep an eye on things for him. He didn't want something like this happening ever again. He couldn't help but wonder if the children would feel safe anymore.

"I mean it," Mia insisted. She stopped him out front of the keep and turned him to face her. Her emerald eyes held nothing but seriousness. "I can't leave you alone. You've got to be at least a little scared."

"I…was more scared for the children," he insisted. "I didn't want them to get hurt… I didn't want them to see me dying either. But oddly enough, I was…alright dying…"

"Don't you dare talk like that!" The hurt in her voice surprised him. Her gaze had softened, but the fire was still in her eyes. "I thought you had died when I came back. I hadn't seen you in so long. I was looking forward to it too. They told me you had been hurt, I didn't know my heart could feel like that. During the war, I couldn't imagine you dying. You were so sick all the time, but you always pulled through. Even when you got hurt, I just brushed it off. You could never die. But this time…this time I thought it had happened…"

"I'm alright…really," Rhys assured her gently. "Mia…no one lives forever. I'll admit I'm young. I haven't done too much with my life, and there is a lot I would like to do, but right now I think I would be happy to die for something noble. I would gladly do it again. When the goddess calls me, I will be ready."

Mia fell silent. It was a rare occurrence for the trueblade which is why it shocked Rhys so much. After a moment, she managed to look up to meet his gaze again, a soft smile on her face. "You've got a lot of guts. I'll give you that. I think that's why you're my rival. I'll have to do something pretty big to outdo you this time."

Rhys felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He tried to object, but she put a finger to his lips, the fire rising in her eyes.

"You can't object either," she continued. "I'm going to keep an eye on you and make sure I get to be there to save your life at least once. And maybe while we're at it, we can check a few things off of that bucket list of yours. If you're so intent on dying for a noble cause, you'd better be satisfied with your life."

For a moment, the saint was too flustered to say anything. How could he say no to her? He couldn't. She wouldn't take no for an answer, but it was moments like these that reminded him of why he had valued her friendship and company so much. He managed a smile himself and nodded. "I think I would like that a great deal, Mia."

"Great," the swordswoman replied. She put an arm around him again and urged him down the dirt road leading to town. "First… I think some of your fans wanted to see you."

Rhys stopped her as her arm snaked around him once again. He slid his soft hand into hers and despite himself, grinned from ear to ear. "I don't need a crutch anymore," he said. "And I like this much better." There was one thing off of his bucket list.


End file.
